


Poking More Than Just Flames

by Shut_Up_Marius



Series: Bastille Day Porn [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 18:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16938654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shut_Up_Marius/pseuds/Shut_Up_Marius
Summary: Courfeyrac takes Combeferre to the fire station's open house day, and unwittingly rekindles a kink of his boyfriend's in the process.





	Poking More Than Just Flames

**Author's Note:**

> It's cold and rainy in the Northern hemisphere so I thought I'd give you a taste of summer.  
> The last installment in the Bastille Day Porn series.

« Oh, oh! Over there, look! Oh, that one's so cool! »

Combeferre doesn't even try to hide his fond chuckle; there's no need with Courfeyrac, the bugger knows he's adorable. He’s geeking out over the many fire trucks that surround them in the station and Combeferre, for his part, considers his boyfriend’s capacity to be amazed at everything one of his most lovable traits.

« I'm sure we'll see it up close later, » he whispers, catching the hand Courfeyrac is using to point at his new favorite truck – the third one in less than ten minutes – and using it to tug him along. Courfeyrac uses the momentum to softly crash into Combeferre and lay a kiss on his cheek.

This open house say is a fantastic idea; getting to peak into the fascinating world of firemen makes Combeferre feel pretty privileged. It was a surprise orchestrated by his very own boyfriend, who knows the only way to talk him out of a lazy Sunday morning in bed, especially one that's also a bank holiday weekend, is with the promise of learning new things.

« And now I'm going to show you where we keep the gear we use when we're called for fires, » their guide for the day says, his booming voice echoing a little off the station’s high ceilings. « We have different uniforms for different situations: there's no way we're showing up at your door in our fire uniforms if you're having a heart attack like we were hired for your hen night. Let's leave this to the professionals. »

Combeferre and Courfeyrac laugh along with the other visitors. As intimidating as their guide’s severe buzzcut is, the giant fireman put everyone at ease from the get-go with little jokes and terrible puns.

« This is not a gateway to Narnia, sorry, kids, » he shrugs as he opens the door to a huge supply closet.

With the way the few children in their midst gasp, it's safe to say that this is almost better than a gateway to Narnia, and with the way Courfeyrac starts bouncing on his feet, it's obvious he shares their excitement.

They enter, and their guide opens the door to a huge walk-in closet.

The little girl he helps into one of the many fireproof jackets sags under its weight, but she gives the proudest smile for the picture her parents take with their smartphones (« May I remind you that women can be firefighters, too? Women are fearless, they are great assets to the profession. »). Then the only teenager from the group gets to try on the oxygen bottle (« You look like you just stepped out of Ghostbusters, man. You've seen Ghostbusters, right? I know you're like fifteen years younger than me but it's on TV at least twice a year. »). Then comes the hood and the gloves, and many pictures are taken.

« And now for the iconic piece : the helmet, » their guide bellows dramatically as he approaches the many shelves lining the walls, full of shiny, silver helmets that sent Combeferre's pulse racing the second he spotted them.

Courfeyrac's hand shoots up in the air. « Oh! Oh! Me, me! »

He's practically vibrating beside him. The children giggle and even the most serious visitors can't help but crack a smile faced with such a high level of excitement. Combeferre is so gone for this man, there's no way he's ever coming back. The fireman choses him to model the ultimate piece of the firefighters' collection and motions him forward. Courfeyrac worms his way through the entire group in no time.

When he puts his hands on the shiny metal of the helmet, his eyes light up like Christmas has come early. He looks at himself in it, makes a face, smiles his teeth out, winks at his reflection. Combeferre shakes his head at the back. Their guide explains away what fabulous properties this helmet has, but Combeferre's not listening anymore; he's awaiting the moment his boyfriend will put the helmet on with baited breath. Unaware, Courfeyrac traces the hem of the visor until he finally, finally settles the helmet on his head.

Immediately he turns to Combeferre with a grin so wide it threatens to split his face in two. Just like Christmas morning.

It's such a shame the thoughts racing through Combeferre's head right now aren't as pure as Courfeyrac's... He knows he's blushing because his face feels like it's slowly catching fire, very much like another part of his anatomy. It's all so unfortunate a time for this particular fantasy of his to have surfaced; there are children here, for God’s sake.

He sinks his teeth in his lower lip none-too-gently; maybe the pain will take the focus away from the dirty images that plague him. When he catches the look on Combeferre's face, Courfeyrac's gaze shifts from purely gleeful to something else, something darker that's just for the both of them.

The conversation that follows is entirely silent.

The raise of an eyebrow and the ghost of a smug smirk. _You're into this?_

A roll of the eyes, a discreet huff. _Shut up._

A full-on smirk, this time. _You are so into this, Combeferre you naughty boy._

The affected shrug of a shoulder. _Maybe. So what ?_

A tongue darting out to wet his lips, the fastest wink ever, a head tilted this way and that to show off the cord of muscles Courfeyrac knows Combeferre loves to kiss. _I'm going to exploit this and you're going to love it._

« You should take a picture, honey, » he says aloud. And Combeferre does.

He takes the time to appreciate how stupidly handsome his boyfriend is before he sets the photo as his phone's background and sends it to all their friends. The familiar motions take his mind off his sinful thoughts for a while and his face progressively comes back down to its normal temperature – and color, he suspects.

His phone pings, their friend Jehan sending a laughing emoji and « I hope you're ready to talk about this moment for the next twenty years because that's how long he'll be bringing it up. » Combeferre chuckles and sends back, « The power of love, Jehan. The power of love, and infinite patience. »

That's how he misses the moment when Courfeyrac takes the helmet off. He doesn't even have helmet hair, though, how unfair is that? His brown curls don't look like they were just trapped inside a heavy piece of head gear, bouncing around like they're alive.

The station’s tour continues, their guide unveiling some secrets that have his audience ooh'ing and aah'ing. When it's time to climb into the trucks and inspect every nook and cranny, Combeferre expects Courfeyrac to be amongst the first to climb in. Instead, he feels a hand wrap around his wrist. He'd recognize the calluses Courfeyrac got from plucking at his ukulele with his eyes closed, so he lets himself be tugged backwards. No one seems to pay them any mind.

When he turns away from the trucks, it becomes obvious where Courfeyrac is taking him. « What are you doing? »

« Taking you somewhere private so we can talk, » he whispers.

« Talk about what, Courf, can't this wait until we get out? You wanted to see the trucks! »

« The trucks are less important than you, honey, » he replies, batting his lashes. Combeferre is a weak, weak man.

Courfeyrac carefully opens the door to the supply closet and pushes Combeferre inside. The only light comes from the green rectangle that points to the emergency exit but, once their eyes have adjusted, it's enough to see each other. Enough to see Courfeyrac prowl towards him.

« Well, Mister Combeferre, I've heard certain parts of you were on fire? »

Combeferre groans. « Oh my God, no. »

He won't pretend that this does nothing for him. Even cheesy Courfeyrac is a hot Courfeyrac. He has a vague idea where his boyfriend wants to take this and he can feel his body perking up, but it can't happen. Not here, not now. If they get caught, they'll never be allowed to set foot in a station again, Courfeyrac will never see a fire truck from up close and they'll most likely get arrested.

« How come you never mentioned this little fetish of yours? » he asks as he picks up the very helmet he was wearing earlier and places it on his head. It's still as sexy.

« Put this back, Courfeyrac, come on. »

Courfeyrac's already started advancing on him, though, and even though he steps back, eventually Combeferre ends up with his back to the wardrobe that contains the fireproof jackets. Trapped. « Infinite patience, » he told Jehan.

« You do look about ready to spontaneously combust, maybe I should take care of that, » he says, a breath away from Combeferre's neck. The helmet bumps against the wardrobe and Courfeyrac has to stifle a laugh. « Maybe I should put on the jacket, what do you think? » Combeferre's lack of response seems to be enough for Courfeyrac. « Please, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to move over for your own safety. It'll take a second. »

Combeferre lets himself be manhandled to the side while Courfeyrac slips on a jacket over his t-shirt. He can't help the soft sigh that escapes his lips when he turns around and, although he can't really see it, he can feel Courfeyrac's victorious grin.

« If we get caught- »

« We won't. Tell me what you want. »

He huffs as Courfeyrac draws him in again, « What I want is for us not to be marched out of here in handcuffs. »

Courfeyrac allows himself a short laugh, then, right before he dives for Combeferre's mouth. Combeferre's given up on all pretense, now ; Courfeyrac knows him too well, so he takes a fistful of that damned jacket and pulls him closer, turning the kiss filthy. The helmet is hot, alright, but also highly impractical for sexy purposes, swallowing Courfeyrac's face up to this cheeks, the visor down to half his forehead.

« I had no idea firemen did it for you, » Courfeyrac pants as he comes back up for air, « and yet they obviously do, » he continues when his hand lands on Combeferre's hardening cock. He gasps. « Interesting. »

« I have no idea why. The stereotypical fireman stands for everything I hate: that toxic image of virility at all costs, manly men packing huge muscle being the only ones worthy of saving us mortals. »

Combeferre thinks himself a true hero at the moment : stringing together coherent sentences when your gorgeous boyfriend has slipped his hand into your khaki shorts and is giving you a handjob – that flick of his wrist at the head, ah – really should be considered a superpower. Meanwhile, he's still just clutching that jacket.

« You heard our guide: women can be firefighters, now, » Courfeyrac counters, mostly talking to Combeferre's collarbone. And licking and biting it. Thank God for warm weather and low-cut, sleeveless tops.

« Believe me, my libido didn't wait for the profession to open up to women to develop this thing, » he moans as Courfeyrac sucks a hickey into his neck.

« Doesn't matter. I'm into it. » Clearly: Combeferre can feel Courfeyrac's hard-on against his leg. It fuels his own desire even as the heat in the closet becomes stifling, the urgency making him arch into his boyfriend's palm. « I want to fuck you wearing the complete uniform. Visor up or down? » _Do you want me to be me or just a fantasy?_

« Up. Down. Both. »

« You'd let me do it right now, wouldn't you, Ferre? You want this so bad, » he asks, slowing down his movements until the lack of friction makes Combeferre whine.

« Yes. God, yes. But we can't do this here. »

« The whole nine yards? No, » Courfeyrac whispers with a nip to Combeferre's jaw, « but maybe I can do something quick for you, » he adds as he gets down to his knees and starts opening Combeferre's pants.

If he were a better man, maybe Combeferre would try and stop this but – it's like a deeper, baser part of his brain has taken precedence, and all he can do is hold on as Courfeyrac takes him into his mouth once.

« Shit, » he gasps. The proud and mischievous look his boyfriend gives him from under the helmet's visor sends a shiver up and down his spine.

Courfeyrac hums as he licks up and down his cock a few times, places kisses on the head and nips at the sensitive skin of his lower stomach because he knows it drives him crazy. Normally, Combeferre would reward Courfeyrac for this by plunging his hands into his curls and pulling hard, but the helmet's making it impossible, so he does the next best thing and digs his fingers into the jacket.

« Sir, » Courfeyrac pulls off to say as he removes Combeferre's hand from the jacket. « You need to take your hands off and let me handle this situation, » he says with a lick to the head of Combeferre's cock that makes him whine a little and bump his skull on the wardrobe behind him.

« You're going to kill me. »

« I'm a trained professional, sir. It'll be my pleasure to resuscitate you if you need it. »

Courfeyrac dips back down with a wicked grin and applies himself at the slit of Combeferre's cock, running his tongue over it again and again while his hand pumps the rest of his shaft, and slides a finger behind his balls to caress the fine skin there, sending electric sparks through Combeferre's body.

The sight of that damn helmet, the wet warmth of Courfeyrac's mouth bobbing on his cock, the pleased little moans he makes each time Combeferre can't help but snap his hips up, all these things take Combeferre really high really fast.

« Courf, I can't- I'm going to- » he pants as quietly as he can.

It's like Courfeyrac was waiting for his cue. He takes Combeferre as deep as he can go and starts sucking in earnest, cheeks hollowing out. It feels like his tongue is everywhere at once, it's overwhelming in the best way and he doesn't even try to hold on, just screws his eyes shut tight and lets his orgasm wash over him, spending in Courfeyrac's mouth.

« Well, it looks like this rivaled the fireworks show we saw last night, » Courfeyrac chuckles as he tucks him back into his pants.

Combeferre gives a breathless little laugh too and gladly embraces his boyfriend when he leans in for a kiss. « Take the helmet off, take me home, and I'll show you fireworks. »

« Sir, » he says in his most serious voice, « Setting off fireworks inside is very dangerous, I would strongly advise against it. » Combeferre's dick gives a little twitch in his pants, that's how interested he is in this roleplaying.

« Okay, before I make you steal this uniform, put it back and take me home. »


End file.
